Harkham's Corner (Harkham's Series Book 3) by Chanse Lowell, Lynch Marti

married.” He flashed his ring in her face. “And I write most of those songs about my wife.”
    “I get it, I get it.” The dark-haired woman shoved her hair behind her ears. “Will cash work, then?”
    “Yeah.” Adam swallowed, and his tongue glued to the roof of his mouth.
    “How’s a thousand sound?”
    “A thousand?” His ears damn near rang.
    “Yeah. You tripled our business tonight. They’ve all heard of you and seen your stuff on YouTube. People have been buzzing about this for a week.” The woman put her hand out with the cash and her business card. “I knew what kind of DJ you were—I was only messin’ with you earlier. I wanted to see what you’d say and do—if you’re the diva type. You’re kind of more the odd type, but whatever. It was worth having you here, and the crowd obviously ate your shit up.”
    Adam’s eyes went wide and then were drawn to the exit where Thomas stood staring. “Nobody eats shit. That’s unhealthy and disgusting. Plus, it would taste really foul.” She laughed, and he could tell she was about to explain so he said, “But I get what you mean.”
    “You were good. Real good,” she said. “I was receiving compliments about you all night.”
    He couldn’t help but glare at the older-looking version of himself. “Good to hear.”
    Adam took the money, thanked her and disappeared out the back door with her help.
    When he drove home, his chant went from, “I’m a man,” to, “He’s not a man. Monster. He’s a monster.”
    He arrived home, put his laptop safely away and his hat, too. Moments later, he got in bed naked and proceeded to touch his wife until she was moaning his name.
    “Tell me what I know,” he said right at the end, right before he let her feel it flood over her.
    “You’re my man, and I love you.”
    “I am a man, though.” His chest heated and his heart yanked toward her. Toward her ragged breathing of his whispered name, almost hidden from him.
    “You are the best man,” she said, curling into his touch.
    “I love you, too, and I played my heart out for you. Could you feel it here back at home?” He nuzzled the side of her cheek, then bit her there and rubbed her wet folds, holding her right there on the edge with one of his long fingers inside and one at that nub he knew so well. Her clit was soaked right now, and so was he—soaked with the urgent desire to hear her say it.
    “You’re a man,” she said, arching a little more off the bed.
    “I am. What else?” He bit again, holding his teeth tight as she mewed and whimpered.
    “I could feel you every second, because I knew you were thinking about me. I was thinking about you, too—that’s how I knew.” She gripped his arm.
    “Oh yes. Thank God,” he said, then rubbed her into a frenzy.
    He let her slide down that ride that turned her into the animal he knew so well—the one that was all feeling and ravenous for him.
    When she was done with her orgasm, she was on top of him, kissing him everywhere, stroking, but he wouldn’t let her bring him release.
    Not tonight.
    He didn’t deserve it.
    He wasn’t the man she thought he was.
    He hated, and Thomas was the name of that hate.
    “What’s wrong, sweetie?” She sank down on top of him, studying his face.
    “Nothing that can be fixed.” He kissed her and pulled her down to him, cuddling her into a coma on his chest. “Nothing that you can help with either.” His words died in the air as he closed his eyes, settled down and fell asleep.
     
    * * *
     
    Mrs. Fahey was in the waiting area.
    “I’m so sorry,” she said, lowering her eyes.
    “You’re not scheduled,” Adam answered her unasked question.
    “No, I’m not.” She held her hands clasped together, her shoulders hunched over, and she wore no makeup. “I’m here because . . . Well, I . . .” She glanced around the empty room.
    In the background there was the sound of the examining rooms being tidied up and things being shut down for the